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It was hot, hot down at the camp grounds in White Eagle but we made it through. To sit under the willow branch covered arbor was so restful. It seeemed to
help my Sister. She was so down. Every pow-wow reminds us of Mom. That was her thing, to camp and be with her family she so loved. Velma didn't mind reminding people, "I'm Indian." I related to Sister how in the old days they took down the willow branches off the arbor, crushed the dried leaves and that was their "aspirin."
"Is that why I'm so relaxed?" She asked. Everything's a joke with us.
"Actually, it is," and this is just another tool of the
gentle Ponca in their pursuit of peace.
They asked me to stand behind my aunt being honored
who was sitting because she is getting elderly, so as usual I was front and center (groan). Will it ever end?
The song they played for Floyd Little Cook, as they sang while beating the drum was sad, "Remember me."
My aunt who is getting frail, wiped away a few tears and I was glad to be with her to put my arm around frail shoulders and comfort her. Aunt Fannie was the one who came to our
"little house on the prairie," so many years ago to care for us when Mother was sick unto death. Her sweet ways brought us all back to a place where Mother could recover and live.
Aunt Fannie's brother, Floyd Little Cook was killed in WW 11. "He never came home," Oliver, his nephew, told the crowd.
The M.C., Oliver Little Cook, gave a wonderful presentation and called a man from the audience to come up so he could dance with him. The gentleman was at risk of falling it seemed so great were his injuries during war, I can't remember which one. I am proud of
Oliver as a groan man. I remember him playing in the
yard as a little boy so many years ago. His conducting the job of master of ceremonies was dignified and loving.
I think everyone there got a gift and some were so
beautiful. The Northern Poncas were present and they
gave absolutely the most luscious star quilts you have
every seen. I drooled for one of them, but the family honored is to give gifts, not receive them, which is just opposite from the Anglo culture. A small star quilt was given to a baby who holds the name, Parrish
Williams, after one of the elders, who is gone now. Parish and Mother were friends. They supported each other when they were elderly with telephone calls and speaking before groups of their early days in Oklahoma.
The man from
the Omaha tribe was related to me through the LaFlesh family and I did get to meet him when he came up to shake hands with the family. It was so strange, he was looking at me like, "somehow, I know we are connected." I didn't get
a chance to talk to him though. I wanted to ask how he was related to Mable LaFlesh, who always came here from the north to visit Mother. My granddaughter is named after the Medical doctor of that family. Gramma Lucille Big Goose gave her that name, Eash Stah Ne Om Bah.
My brother put money on the drum to break mourning
for Mother after four years as is the old way. That seemed to help my Sister, too. She took almost total care of Mother at the last and has suffered the most with
depression over our loss. No one has time to actually grieve these days, we just plug along without let up, doing the necessary things until all can culminate into a total let down at some point.
It is told there are no orphans among the Ponca, and it is
so. Oliver is my grandfather, via our relationship, because his grandfather and my grandmother were brother and sister. His children and their children will be my grandfather, too,
even if they are only four years old. That may seem strange to someone who doesn't understand, but to one who has lost their parent the tradition holds a blessed
feeling of not ever being alone without a loved one beside us. The arrangement agrees with the scriptures that tell, "Even though your Mother and Father leave you, I will be there for you,"
speaking, of course, of our Creator. But this feels like His will is put into motion, not through
an abstract way, but in a way we can actually see the comfort there for us.
"It is very difficult to be Indian," some will say, and I
agree. Dad must have known this when he directed us
to his Christian faith. It is much easier, and for the most part I stick with that. However, family, on such an occasion must be respected.
help my Sister. She was so down. Every pow-wow reminds us of Mom. That was her thing, to camp and be with her family she so loved. Velma didn't mind reminding people, "I'm Indian." I related to Sister how in the old days they took down the willow branches off the arbor, crushed the dried leaves and that was their "aspirin."
"Is that why I'm so relaxed?" She asked. Everything's a joke with us.
"Actually, it is," and this is just another tool of the
gentle Ponca in their pursuit of peace.
They asked me to stand behind my aunt being honored
who was sitting because she is getting elderly, so as usual I was front and center (groan). Will it ever end?
The song they played for Floyd Little Cook, as they sang while beating the drum was sad, "Remember me."
My aunt who is getting frail, wiped away a few tears and I was glad to be with her to put my arm around frail shoulders and comfort her. Aunt Fannie was the one who came to our
"little house on the prairie," so many years ago to care for us when Mother was sick unto death. Her sweet ways brought us all back to a place where Mother could recover and live.
Aunt Fannie's brother, Floyd Little Cook was killed in WW 11. "He never came home," Oliver, his nephew, told the crowd.
The M.C., Oliver Little Cook, gave a wonderful presentation and called a man from the audience to come up so he could dance with him. The gentleman was at risk of falling it seemed so great were his injuries during war, I can't remember which one. I am proud of
Oliver as a groan man. I remember him playing in the
yard as a little boy so many years ago. His conducting the job of master of ceremonies was dignified and loving.
I think everyone there got a gift and some were so
beautiful. The Northern Poncas were present and they
gave absolutely the most luscious star quilts you have
every seen. I drooled for one of them, but the family honored is to give gifts, not receive them, which is just opposite from the Anglo culture. A small star quilt was given to a baby who holds the name, Parrish
Williams, after one of the elders, who is gone now. Parish and Mother were friends. They supported each other when they were elderly with telephone calls and speaking before groups of their early days in Oklahoma.
The man from
the Omaha tribe was related to me through the LaFlesh family and I did get to meet him when he came up to shake hands with the family. It was so strange, he was looking at me like, "somehow, I know we are connected." I didn't get
a chance to talk to him though. I wanted to ask how he was related to Mable LaFlesh, who always came here from the north to visit Mother. My granddaughter is named after the Medical doctor of that family. Gramma Lucille Big Goose gave her that name, Eash Stah Ne Om Bah.
My brother put money on the drum to break mourning
for Mother after four years as is the old way. That seemed to help my Sister, too. She took almost total care of Mother at the last and has suffered the most with
depression over our loss. No one has time to actually grieve these days, we just plug along without let up, doing the necessary things until all can culminate into a total let down at some point.
It is told there are no orphans among the Ponca, and it is
so. Oliver is my grandfather, via our relationship, because his grandfather and my grandmother were brother and sister. His children and their children will be my grandfather, too,
even if they are only four years old. That may seem strange to someone who doesn't understand, but to one who has lost their parent the tradition holds a blessed
feeling of not ever being alone without a loved one beside us. The arrangement agrees with the scriptures that tell, "Even though your Mother and Father leave you, I will be there for you,"
speaking, of course, of our Creator. But this feels like His will is put into motion, not through
an abstract way, but in a way we can actually see the comfort there for us.
"It is very difficult to be Indian," some will say, and I
agree. Dad must have known this when he directed us
to his Christian faith. It is much easier, and for the most part I stick with that. However, family, on such an occasion must be respected.